Tag Archives: small town

Trick or Treat- here’s my policy

31 Oct

Take candy from a stranger?  No problem.  If it’s chocolate, I’ll eat it right there, straight pins and all.  Unless:

the house smells like cigarette smoke or pee,

has a ferret or senior living in it. (I will ask.)

Is creepy.

Has trademarked character or “Believe,” “Believe in Yourself,” or “Life is a Journey” type flags displayed on the premises (also creepy).

Has a chain link fence around the yard with a pit bull size spot dug out underneath.

Hands out anything homemade.  Do you have any idea how much human touching goes into making popcorn balls?  Gross.

I will not visit a house that gives out dimes

or asks me to perform a trick

or makes me do a trick and then gives me a dime.  (In my neighborhood, this was the Hoffman family.  They also confiscated our baseballs when they landed in their yard.  They were jerks and they never adjusted for inflation.)

I will not accept candy from a house that has overflowing garbage cans out front when it’s not even “Garbage Eve” or

has icicle lights hanging from the gutters all year long.  (This clause applies only to icicle lights.  Regular lights may hang year round in case of a Cinco de Mayo emergency.)

Is where the god people live.

Look, it’s my policy, not yours.  You don’t like it, get your own candy.

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Artistic License

28 Mar

Here’s the truth behind last week’s post titled “When this whole world starts getting me down”:

I did clean the window screens and windows and,

I did freak out over being the only person who gets anything done around here because I am the only person who gets anything done anywhere.  Also, yes to drama queen.

After that I was forced to utilize my artistic license in order to better cope with reality:

I was stranded on the roof while husband was at the hardware store but eventually he came home.  With a cactus plant.  “It was only $3!” he said.

I did not witness a gentle rain storm wash through the valley.  Instead, I feared for my life as a storm rolled over me and, in an over the top attempt at survival, I flattened myself across a span of roof so that my body was below lightning rod level.  I still have shingle grit embedded on my face.

Apparently I don’t truly know any Drifters songs because I kept confusing “Under the Boardwalk” with “Up on the Roof.”  It’s just that “oh when the sun beats down and burns the tar up on the roof and your shoes get so hot you wish your tired feet were fire-proof” sounds way more like someone up on a roof than someone “down by the sea.”  And what’s with all the prepositions in Drifters song titles?  No wonder I was confused.

My arms remain the weakest part of my body but I vowed to begin strength training- if I survived.

My neighbor did come over and help me down once I screamed over the  seemingly constant yipping of her dogs.  And even then she didn’t come right away.

Also she did not bring lemonade.

Oh, she brought a beverage alright.  Not immediately because she was watching Dr. Oz who recommends drinking the juice of three lemons and three limes for an instant energy boost.  So she ran three lemons and three limes through her juicer and gave me that to drink.  I tossed it back and felt nothing but the enamel on my teeth erode.

Shortly thereafter the school bus pulled up and deposited the boy.  When I told him of my misadventure and let him know that his bedroom window was where I got locked out, he replied that “he never asked for air anyway.”

It’s good that I have an artistic license and not a carry permit (like Mr. Nugent).

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When this whole world starts getting me down

21 Mar

Spring arrived early so the window screens had to go in NOW which means that I had to get the screens down from the attic, set them on the lawn, scrub them and clean the windows.

By the time all that was done, I was tired and dirty yet determined, by now, to get just one screen in one window because if anyone else wants street air, you can put in your own damn window screens.  Who died and made me screen queen?  Drama queen, for sure, but window screens?  I hope you can hear me.

Lacking a queen’s minions, I climbed onto the roof and, with rubber mallet in hand, slammed a window screen into place and secured it like nobody’s business.  Ted Nugent loaded up on five-hour energy drinks would have difficulty busting through that screen.  Mosquitoes and moths, no problem.  But the Nuge?  Definitely a challenge.  Already the house felt fresher.

Knowing that with screen in place I would have to climb off the roof, I positioned a ladder nearby.  I knew that the ladder was a little short but the bigger, safer ladder was way over in the shed and all I wanted was to be done.  So I kept the smaller ladder and figured that spouse could hold onto my ankle to help me down.

If he were here.

While dangling from a gutter is a less than ideal time to recall that spouse decided to “run to the hardware store,” hanging from a gutter contemplating why women marry at all, is worse.  And, my arms got really tired.

So here is why living in a small town is bad: because it is impossible to “run” anywhere.  No matter what the task, there is always someone eager to chat.  Even if you say that you are in a hurry and that your wife might be (literally) hanging from the roof, there is always a neighbor, friend of a neighbor or stranger who will ask: “well now, what’s she up there for?”

And here is why living in a small town is good: because after sitting up on the roof for 45 minutes, singing all The Drifters songs I know (one), watching a rain storm in the hollow, seeing a robin build a nest and noting that I need a pedicure (I am still a queen), a neighbor came over, popped the window screen out and helped me back in.

And she brought some lemonade.

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Trick or Treat- here’s my policy

17 Oct

Take candy from a stranger?  No problem.  If it’s chocolate, I’ll eat it right there, straight pins and all.  Unless the house:

smells like cigarette smoke or pee;

has a ferret or senior living in it. (I will ask.)

is creepy.

has trademarked character or “Believe,” “Believe in Yourself,” or “Life is a Journey”-type flags displayed on the premises (also creepy.)

has a chain link fence around the yard with a pit bull size spot dug out underneath.

hands out anything homemade.  Do you have any idea how much human handling goes into making popcorn balls?  Gross.

I will not visit a house that gives out dimes

or asks me to perform a trick

or makes me do a trick and then gives me a dime.  (In my neighborhood, this was the Hoffman family; they were also the ones who confiscated our baseballs when they landed in their yard.  They were jerks and they never adjusted for inflation.)

I will not accept candy from a house that has overflowing garbage cans out front and it’s not even “Garbage Eve”

or has icicle lights hanging from the gutters- all year round.  (This clause applies only to the icicle lights.  Regular lights may remain year round in case of a Cinco de Mayo emergency.)

or is where the god people live.

Look, it’s my policy, not yours.  Get your own candy.

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A mouse has been eating my bar of oatmeal soap

30 Sep

Really, you need more?  Did you not notice the smorgasbord image above?

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Does this sound right to you?

17 Sep

I have always believed that my childhood was average.

In the summer we had corn for dinner.  Boiled and dotted with margarine, corn on the cob.  As much as you wanted and nothing else.

Also watermelon.  Cubed, seeded and chilled.  After a dusty day of playing, a dinner of ice cold water melon was not as strange as it sounds.  As much as you wanted and nothing else.  Although it is harder to fill up on watermelon than it is corn.

One of us kids had to hit the side of the television to make the picture work.  Eventually we would argue about whose turn it was to get up and hit the TV and then mom would yell and send us all to our rooms where we did not have our own TVs- some of us didn’t have our own rooms either.

We played with coal.  Pieces that, in my mom’s opinion, had a certain something that deemed them too special for the furnace.  Exceptional pieces stayed on the shelf; those were the pieces we weren’t allowed to touch- the “show towels” of coal if you will.    FYI: coal is really sharp.

Before a visit from our grandparents we had to clean the house like crazy and then disappear.  You could tell they were visiting though, because mom was frazzled and dad was really, really quiet.  Grandma kept wanting to run on up to JCPenney and grandpa spat tobacco juice into the coffee can he always carried.

Sounds right to me.

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What’s the Mutter?

5 Aug

While chatting with a neighbor I mentioned that my family recently had a craving for Indian food.

She told me that she had never tried antelope before but she had heard good things about it.

Imagine if I told her that we drove to the restaurant in an Impala.

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